Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1887-02-03
MY YOUNG SOLDIER.
A Tale Of Boyish Patriotism and
Love.

Love.
Itois cold, November twilight. The
curtains have been drawn close in the
little room which, earlier in the day,
serves us as office, but which, after the
stroke of five, is delivered over to the
more tender associations of the family
sitting-room. A large, CHEEKY wood
fire burns on the family altar, and as
wood is cheaper than oil in this country
region, we experience the double salts
faction of yielding gracefully to an in
nocent request of childhood and of
practicing economy in less disagree
able manner than that in which the ne
cessity usually presents itself, and allow
its tiickering flames to be, for a couple
of hours, our only illumination.
The customary sacrifices of Autumn,
roast chestnuts and popcorn, have been
offered to the Lares and Penates of our
domestic hearth, and now the children,
from golden-haired, lisping Robbie to
my dark-eyed, gentle-mannered first
born, who, sitting close beside me,
nestles her nut-brown head coaxingly
against my coat-sleeve, plead and clam
or for a s.stoiy."
''Launce, bring the pocket-book, ="
and the lad obeyed, opening a closet
and taking from one of its shelves a
qu@er-looking object, which he places in
my hand with quiet reverence, as
though the inanimate thing had feeling.
The young bodies draw closer and fairly
swarm over mine in their desire to see
again what is q familiar, yet ever-inter-
esting, relic.
1t is battered, old, leather pocket
book, which is scarcely recognizable as
such, discolored, dirty, misshapen, mat
ted together, as though it had been
soaked in some fluid; ragged, as if some
substance had ruthlessly shattered and
torn its leathern body. Taking it, with
Che same tender handling, from my
boy, j looked sadly on its stained, wet
outside; and then, rs 1 opened carefully
Che stiff compartments, and viewed
their contents, flood of memories
pushed from them and brought hot
tears 90 my eyes. Here was a bit of
currency, Of old, disused design, crisp
and clean, though yellowed by time at
one end, while the other was stiff and
discolored like the leather; here again
was bit of dried clover-blossom, and
on the same stalk four-petaled leaf
forluck! Something heavier and larger
Is in this pocket; l draw it out and we
all hold our breath; the mother puts
down her knitting, and rising, lays her
arm in loving, mOther-fashion about
Che neck of her straightforward eldest
son; while her blue eyes, little dimmed
by age, grow even less Clear with I'M
shed Gears as she gazes on the object 1
have distracted
1t is an old-fashioned, double tin
type, abOut two inches square, held to-
gesher bya narrow filagree band of gilt.
From the dark surface of the metal
gazes the face of a woman; a sad-eyed,
wan face. with a whole history of suffer-
ing in its pathetic beauty; there is the
indefinable impress of maternal love
upon 1t, and the yearning expression of
its bnpid eyes haunts one with its
mournful craving. 1t is the face of the
one who, having suffered much, feels
the foreshadowing of even a heavier
cloud. Scratched on the tin Just be-
meath is the keynote to the life of the
original; in irregular letters, as though
formed by some rude Implement, is one
word, ''Mother." turn the other side
uppermost and reveal the bright, I'M
clouded, boyish face of my hero. Laugh
ing eyes beam joyously upon us; close
crop of golden curls cling tightly to a
youthful, well-shaped head; delicate
ly-cutmOuth. unshaded as vet by the
soft down of manhood, is parted as
though in the act of finishing a hearty
peal of mesrimen& A countenance full
of health, and trimming over with life
and happiness, well calculated to inspire
u wealth of mother-love.
After we have all once more refreshed
our memories with Il long gaze at the
two faces, which from much. study are
as familiar as those of actual friends, /
replace them in the wallet, and regard
ing it, us in olden times the improvisa-
tor centered his attention upon the sub
jeet of his song, began my tale, true
story of our Civil War:
"None of you children remember the